


Standoff

by AirgiodSLV



Series: Sins [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-11
Updated: 2004-11-11
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: It’s been…an hour and twelve minutes, according to the digital clock on the bedside table, since this started. ‘This’ is what Orlando usually thinks of as playtime, or occasionally a workout; but Elijah had given it another name tonight.Confession.





	Standoff

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](https://furorscribendi.livejournal.com/profile)[furorscribendi](https://furorscribendi.livejournal.com/) ‘Pride’ challenge. Follows [Avaritia](http://www.livejournal.com/users/airgiodslv/71538.html), [Give-and-take](http://www.livejournal.com/users/airgiodslv/75664.html), [Snap/Struggle/Shift](http://www.livejournal.com/users/airgiodslv/83135.html), and [Sidle](http://www.livejournal.com/users/airgiodslv/90396.html). Thanks to Brenna for the beta.
> 
> Content/Warnings: s/D, pain.

The words come spilling out of him when Orlando least expects them, tumbling over each other in a mix of desperation and pleading: “I’m fucking Dom.”

The _swish_ of the leather crop ceases, its progress halted in mid-air, and then there’s a thoughtful pause and the tap of the crop idly against Orlando’s bare hip.

The insides of his thighs are striped red, legs spread so that Elijah could raise welts in zebra-patterns between his legs, where denim will chafe them tomorrow unless Orlando remembers to wear something more forgiving.

Elijah’s eyes are holding his, but the slow, thorough lashing has at least ended for the moment, and Orlando can now drop his head back onto the pillow and contemplate just how many ways he’s fucked himself by saying those words.

It’s been…an hour and twelve minutes, according to the digital clock on the bedside table, since this started. ‘This’ is what Orlando usually thinks of as playtime, or occasionally a workout; but Elijah had given it another name tonight.

_Confession._

For the first ten minutes, Orlando had enjoyed the game, had refused to speak and sweated in thrilled anticipation as Elijah started working out how to make him talk. He really should have known better. Elijah never goes into anything unprepared, and the placement of the stiff leather riding crop in the drawer next to the bed hadn’t been an accident or a coincidence.

The next half-hour had been a lesson in pain, as Elijah had shackled Orlando’s legs apart and shown him just how tender the skin of his inner thighs really was. But Orlando had enjoyed that, used to these games, knowing that Elijah knew exactly what he was doing, and imagining what it would feel like when Elijah finally slid between his legs and Orlando’s thighs burned with the friction of skin against skin.

After that, when the ache didn’t go away and the cold knowledge in Elijah’s eyes had burned, Orlando’d started talking. Fears, kinks, mistakes, secrets he’d sworn to keep behind his teeth…they all came out, one after the other, desperate to be the words that stopped the impersonal lashing and led to relief.

And this is the one, it seems, that Elijah has decided will be enough. Or…no. Wait. Orlando stares in wonder at the gleam in Elijah’s eyes, the dark triumph. The complete and total lack of surprise.

This is the one Elijah has been waiting to hear.

“You already knew,” Orlando stammers, twisting against restraints and feeling his stomach sink. He should know better, by now, than to keep secrets from Elijah. And Elijah’s expression says the exact same thing.

“Of course I knew,” Elijah agrees mildly, and the crop stops its maddening tapping as Elijah leans forward and wraps his fist around Orlando’s badly-neglected cock. Orlando gasps, hisses; arches into it as much as he can and moans when Elijah starts lazily stroking.

“Then why?” Orlando asks, barely able to string words together. He flexes into the next upstroke, whimpers and tries to swallow the sound.

Elijah leans over further, licks at the seam of Orlando’s parted lips while Orlando squeezes his eyes closed and begs silently. Elijah’s words ghost across his face, soft as breath. “Because now we both know.”

Determination surfaces, fighting past the pleasure-pain and insistent desire. “I won’t let you have him,” Orlando grits out, and Elijah twists his wrist, so sharply that Orlando’s teeth snap closed on his tongue and he swallows blood.

“What if I let you have me?” Elijah asks, and the words are menacing, for all that they are cloaked in velvet, purred against the shell of Orlando’s ear. Orlando’s mind whites out as his body nearly overheats, thrusting harder in spite of the pain into Elijah’s fist, brought near to the edge just by the thought…Elijah beneath him, yielding, arching as Orlando takes him…

“No,” Orlando gasps. Elijah pushes the handle of the riding crop into him and twists, and Orlando screams-writhes-comes, hot semen splashing against his stomach and over Elijah’s deceptively soft fist, still gripping his cock.

Elijah brings his hand to his lips and smiles, while Orlando stares back in shock and his body hums with the aftershocks of orgasm. Elijah licks his fingers delicately, and something in Orlando’s stomach twists and drops at the wickedness of that smile.

“Well then,” Elijah says calmly. “May the best man win.”


End file.
